Sonnet XXXVII
And I was silent. Now you do not know,
But read these very words with vacant eyes,
And, as you turn the page, peruse the skies,
And I go by you as a cloud might go.
You are not cruel, though you dealt the blow,
And I am happy, though I miss the prize;
For, when God tells you, you will not despise
The love I bore you. It is better so.
My soul is just, and thine without a stain.
Why should not life divide us, whose division
Is frail and passing, as its union vain?
All things 'neath other planets will grow plain
When, as we wander through the fields Elysian,
Eternal echoes haunt us of this pain.
Autres oeuvres par George Santayana...
